


What Happens Next

by lilbluednacer



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Jughead Jones, F/M, Freeform, Mysterious Betty Cooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbluednacer/pseuds/lilbluednacer
Summary: “So what about you, Betty Cooper? What’s your story?”She offers him a mysterious smile. “I think that might be a story for another time.”Jughead can’t resist a good mystery, especially when it comes in the form of Riverdale’s newest resident Betty Cooper.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63





	What Happens Next

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this late last night and spent today writing it out, thanks for reading!

The first time Jughead meets her he’s sitting at the counter in the all-night diner on Fifth Street, at two in the morning. The Nighthawk isn’t Pop’s but it’s clean and the coffee comes with free refills, not bad for being in the heart of the south side. It’s sandwiched between a head shop and a Chinese restaurant but the reason he’s really here is across the street: a dry cleaning business that’s rumored to be a front for a drug operation.

It’s raining outside but he’s the only one seeking shelter here tonight, pretending to read his worn copy of Red Harvest while he keeps one eye trained at the entrance of the dry cleaners and slowly eats a slice of pecan pie. 

The bell over the door rings as it opens, he turns a little to observe a young woman rush inside. She’s blond, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she’s drenched from the rain, her pale pink slip of a dress soaked through. She rushes across the diner to hop onto a stool to his right and orders a cup of coffee from the waitress. She shivers and set an iPhone, the only thing she’s holding, down on the counter and crosses her arms over her chest as she shivers.

Jughead can’t resist. He’s a detective after all, he loves a good mystery.

“Excuse me,” he says quietly. “Are you alright?”

She spins her stool in his direction and blinks huge blue eyes at him. She’s luminous in the terrible fluorescent lighting, all plush lips and pale skin dotted with raindrops. “Sorry?”

“I was asking if you were okay,” he says. “It’s the middle of the night, this neighborhood isn’t the kind of place for a nice girl like yourself.”

She cradles her cup of coffee and gives him a vague smile as she brings it to her lips and takes a sip. “Maybe I’m not a nice girl.”

His eyes skim over her, that wet dress clinging to the curves of her body, soft looking hands that tremble as she drinks her coffee. He sighs to himself and slips out of his leather jacket (not his old Serpents jacket, it’s the one Archie bought him the day he made detective, and incidentally the nicest piece of clothing he owns) and holds it out to her.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she says immediately, although she looks rather pleased at the offer. “My ride will be here soon, I just needed somewhere dry to wait.”

“I’m afraid I must insist.” He lifts his badge from where it was hiding under his tee shirt. “I swore a duty to serve and protect.”

She sets her cup down and takes his jacket, gathers it around her shoulders and snuggles into it. “Well, I suppose I can’t argue with civic duty, Officer…”

“It’s detective, actually.” He holds his hand out to her. “Detective Jones.”

Her hand is as soft as it looks when she shakes his. “Betty Cooper.”

“Nice to meet you, Betty Cooper.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Detective.” She tilts her head towards his book. “A Hammett fan?”

He laughs. “Please don’t tell me I’m a cliche.”

Her eyes scan him. “You look like a writer.”

“I thought about it,” he confesses. 

“Mm.” Delicate pink painted fingers trace around her mug. “So what happened?”

“Oh you know, dreams die, children grow up.”

“More cliches.”

“A good detective understands how a story works. The characters, the plot, the setting - they’re all right there in the case, but we have to put them together in the right order. We write the ending. We’re responsible for how the story gets told.”

“Oh so you’re a philosopher,” she teases.

Jughead watches her drink her coffee, transfixed by the sight of her in his jacket. “Maybe I just love a good story.”

“Well, who can resist a good story?”

“So what about you, Betty Cooper? What’s your story?”

She offers him a mysterious smile. “I think that might be a story for another time.”

“And why‘s that?”

She holds up her buzzing phone. “My chariot awaits.”

She shrugs off his jacket and hands it back to him, pulls a ten dollar bill out of her cleavage, smooths it out and rests it on the countertop next to her half-drunk cup of coffee. “Take care, Detective.”

She sashays away before he can say goodbye, leaving him alone to watch her go outside and slide into the passenger seat of a dark car, and disappears into the night.

*

When he leaves his apartment the next morning (a studio in a nice brick building on the Northside, because he’s gone straight now, living the good life) Veronica Lodge is waiting outside in her usual uniform, a cape and black sunglasses, a black leather dog leash looped around one wrist that’s clipped to the collar of a tiny furry animal that’s possible canine yet barely the size of a squirrel.

When she sees him she tugs on the dog’s leash and walks away, strutting down the sidewalk like it’s a runway. Jughead tugs down his crown beanie a little and follows her down the street, relieved when she turns the corner in the direction of his local coffee shop. He follows her inside and they wait in line without looking at each other, her tiny dog cradled under one arm. They order separately and take their coffee across the street to a small park, sit on opposite ends of a bench while Veronica’s dog rolls around in the grass.

“So,” Veronica murmurs. “I believe you met a friend of mine.”

He takes a sip of his red eye. “Is that so?”

“Oh please, coy is not a good luck on you.”

“I’m not in the mood for bullshit, Veronica.”

“And you think I am?”

He sighs. “Are you talking about a certain blonde, perhaps?”

“She’s my friend,” Veronica says. 

He raises an eyebrow. “And by friend you mean…”

“An old friend from New York.” Veronica reaches up and runs a few fingers through her glossy hair. “She’s staying with me for awhile.”

“Really.”

“She’s had a bad run of it lately,” Veronica says softly. “Needed a break. You understand, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“I thought you weren’t in the mood for mind games,” she retorts.

“I’m just wondering what exactly you think happened that necessitates this.”

Veronica stands up and smooths out her skirt. “I just wanted to tell you to be careful.”

He snorts. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I’m serious. She’s a Blossom, you should know what you’re getting into.”

He frowns. “Thought she said she was a Cooper.”

Veronica sighs impatiently. “They’re part of the same family. There was a big feud a few generations back, bad blood. And you know history has a tendency to repeat itself.”

Jughead tips his head up to the sky. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She nods her chin sharply at him. “You do that.”

*

He’s at a bar with Archie the following weekend when he sees her again, sitting at a back table with Kevin Keller of all people. She’s dressed down, a cream colored sweater tucked into a pair of skinny jeans, hair pulled back in another ponytail and a glass of wine cradled in one hand. He looks away, tries to listen along to Archie’s story about the latest house he and Fred are flipping but he can’t shake the feeling of it, her behind him, Veronica’s Lodge’s mysterious friend.

He runs into her coming out of the men’s room an hour later, leaning against the wall like she’s waiting for him, her cheeks a little flushed.

“I thought that was you,” she says, and reaches out to straighten the collar of his sherpa lined denim jacket. “You look handsome tonight, Detective.”

The direct compliment throws him off guard and he reaches up to touch the edge of his beanie. “I didn’t know you were friends with Kevin.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I have a lot of friends.”

“Apparently.”

She twirls a few fingers around her ponytail. “Are you off duty tonight?”

“I am.”

“Well then.” She steps forward and brushes her lips against his cheek. “You enjoy your night off Detective.”

She spins around and ducks into the women’s room, leaving him standing there in the hallway, wondering what the hell just happened.

*

He’s driving home from Archie’s the next night when he sees a blonde woman walking on the side of the road, alone, dressed in a dark jacket and jeans. He checks the dashboard to confirm its almost three in the morning, flashes his brights at her and pulls the car over as he rolls down the passenger side window.

“Betty!” he calls out.

She stops and whirls around, a look of terror on her face that dissolves as she ducks her head and recognizes him. “Yes, Detective?”

He gapes at her. “What are you doing?”

She shrugs. “Walking.”

“At three in the morning?”

“Is that a crime, Detective?”

“Of course not, it’s just stupid,” he chastises. “It isn’t safe, Betty.”

She twists her mouth to the side. “Why am I getting the impression you think I can’t take care of myself?”

“Look, just let me give you a ride. Please?”

She looks like she’s going to decline but then she sighs and climbs into the passenger seat, closes the door and buckles her seatbelt. “I’m only saying yes because I’m tired, okay?”

He rolls his eyes and pulls away from the curb. “You staying with Veronica?”

She shoots him a sharp look. “How do you know that?”

He smirks. “I have friends too.”

He drives across town to The Pembrooke and parks outside, puts his hazards on as she unbuckles her seatbelt.

“I don’t like owing people things,” she explains quietly. “I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

“It’s just a ride Betty,” he reassures her. “We’re good.”

“So I guess I’ll see you around?” she asks.

“Seems like it.”

“Have a good night, Detective.” She gives him a tight smile and gets out of the car, slams the door and rushes into Veronica’s building without looking back once.

*

He doesn’t see her for a few weeks, he’s neck deep in work and he doesn’t need the distraction, he can’t spend his time cruising around town on the lookout for a blonde ponytail when there are criminals out there, innocent people who need protecting. He’s catching up on paperwork one Friday night when Toni Topaz makes her way over to his desk and hops up to sit on the edge.

“We’re all going out tonight,” she informs him. “That means you too.”

“And if I refuse?”

She reaches out and takes the pen right out of his hand. “Do not make me use force, Jones.”

He kicks back from his desk in defeat. “Fine, but I promise not to enjoy myself at all.”

“I don’t care about your enjoyment. I heard a certain little cherry’s going to be out tonight.”

“Still keeping tabs on Cheryl?”

Toni pretends to examine her nails. “Maybe.”

“You know the Blossom family is dirtier than the business they run, right?”

She glares at him. “Cheryl isn’t like that.”

“Look, I know she’s hot as sin but” -

Toni kicks him right in the shin, which, fair. “You’re going. No excuses.”

“And where exactly is it that I’m going?”

She gives him a slick smile. “You didn’t hear? Veronica Lodge just opened a new bar.”

*

Le Bonne Nuit is, well, massive: a huge staircase that leads from the street entrance to the floor of the bar, gleaming wood, a stage on one end, leather padded booths and tables with velvet upholstered chairs. Jughead follows Toni and a few fellow detective down the stairs, self conscious in his black dress shirt. He has no idea how Toni managed to get a table reserved on opening night but then he sees Cheryl Blossom sitting on a stool across the room in a tight red dress talking to Veronica, who looks devastating in a low cut purple gown, and prays they all walk out of here tonight in one piece.

A server brings them a round of cocktails they didn’t order, on the house, and Toni grins as she licks sugar off the rim of her glass. He takes a sip of his whiskey cocktail and leans back in his chair, resolving to at least enjoy the free alcohol, when Toni leans in and bumps her shoulder against his.

“Hey, who’s Cinderella?” she asks, pointing to the stairs.

Betty Cooper is descending, her hair falling in loose curls, wearing a shimmering pale blue dress with little straps. He watches her reach the bottom step and make her way over to the bar to join Cheryl, leaning over to kiss Veronica’s cheek before picking up the drink Cheryl hands her.

“That would be Betty Cooper.” He tosses back half his drink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Cooper…” Toni frowns. “I swear I know that name.”

“She’s new in town,” he volunteers. “Friendly with the establishment.”

“I can see that.” Toni raises an eyebrow at him. “I take it you two are acquainted.”

“We’ve met.”

She laughs. “Relax, if anyone deserves to blow off a little steam, it’s you.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your approval.”

“Oh I wasn’t saying that.” She tilts her head toward where Betty is sitting, Cheryl Blossom’s arm around her. “But you might want to be careful with that one.”

“You know, you aren’t the first person to say that to me.”

“Not that you ever listen.”

“Any particular reason for the warning?”

Toni squeezes his forearm. “She looks like trouble.”

“Says the girl who had purple hair throughout high school.”

“That was creative expression, I wasn’t hobnobbing with the daughters of Riverdale’s two biggest criminals.”

“I’m aware of who her friends are.”

She holds her hands up in defeat. “Alright, just watch your back.”

He finishes his drink and flags the waiter down to order a second round. “I always do.”

They stick to their table mostly, at some point a band comes onstage and people get up to dance. Jughead finds himself abandoned by his colleagues as they obey the call of the music and he thinks about leaving, he’s three drinks in and knows it’s better to stop now, before he can’t, but as he’s crossing the room he sees a flash a blue and changes course, follows Betty Cooper through a swinging door that leads to a little alcove with a velvet chaise against the wall and a few vintage pay phones.

“I thought that was you,” he says, and Betty turns around.

“I was wondering when you were going to say hello.” Betty’s eyes are glassy, her eyes impossibly blue in the dim hallway light. “I’ve been watching you all night.”

He swaggers forward, just drunk enough to feel confident. “Is that so?”

She nods, reaching out to slip her fingers through his belt loops. “I hope that isn’t a crime.”

He grins. “Depends. Did you want to get caught?”

Her pupils dilate. “Maybe.”

“What’re you doing here Betty?”

“Veronica made me come.”

“Made you?”

“This isn’t really my scene,” she confesses. “I prefer to keep a low profile these days.”

He rests one hand on her shoulder, her skin is hot to the touch and so, so soft. “Is that so?”

She nods, swaying a little in her heels. “She’s my best friend. I figured I’d stay for a bit and then sneak out the back.”

He grins. “Great minds think alike.”

That makes her smile. “Well, come on then.”

She leads him down a back hallway and out of the club through the delivery entrance, it leads to an alley and he reaches down to hold her hand as she shivers in the cool night air. She stops, leaning up against the brick, and brings their linked hands up to her chest.

“What, Betty?” he asks softly.

“I’ve been thinking. About what you said before. The night we met.”

He furrows his brow. “Oh?”

“About stories. How you see the pieces and put them together. Give the story an ending.”

“And?”

“And I guess I couldn’t help wondering…”

“What?”

She blinks heavily mascaraed lashes at him. “What happens next?”

“Next?” he parrots dumbly.

“In our story.”

He leans over her, in heels she’s practically his height but she feels small to him anyway. “That’s up to you Betty.”

She licks her lips and then she rises on her toes and presses her lips to his and he’s spinning, her dress cold under his palms as he rests his hands on her waist.

“Take me home with you?” she asks.

He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Is that what you want?”

She nods slowly, all warm skin and cool silk and she feels so delicate in his hands, fragile, nothing like the kind of girl who walks through town in the middle of the night alone. 

“I want you,” she whispers.

He kisses her again, thinks about hiking her skirt up right here against the brick but then he comes to his senses and back off, takes her hand again and leads her out of the alley.

He lives close enough to walk, he takes her back to his apartment building and they go inside, take the elevator up to his one bedroom. She starts kissing him when he’s unlocking the door and he playfully nips at her bottom lip as he feels the lock give and pulls her inside, kicks the door shut and pins her against the nearest wall.

She’s watching him with wide eyes, cheeks flushed and he wonders what the hell she's really doing here, but then she palms him through his jeans and says, “Take me to bed.”

So he does. Gladly.

*

In the morning she’s gone.

No note, no lipstick kiss on the mirror, she even remembered where she left her panties draped over the bedpost because there’s no trace of her ever being inside his apartment.

He’s not surprised but he’s a little hurt, and then he feels like a moron. He’s an adult, he understands the concept of a one night stand. He isn’t the kind of man to fall for beauty and charm, he isn’t Archie, he knows better.

He thought he knew better.

He throws himself into work, spends sleepless nights in diners and bars and in his car on stakeouts. He stays away from The Pembrooke, Le Bonne Nuit, holds onto the rest of his pride and tries to move on, or at least stop obsessing so much. She’s trouble, clearly, any girl mixed up with both the Lodges and the Blossoms can’t be anything but, and Jughead Jones swore to stay away from trouble the day he hung up his Serpents jacket for the last time.

He can’t quite get her out of his head anyway.

He closes a big case finally, the drug ring operating out of the dry cleaners, and takes a weekend off to celebrate. He calls Archie and they go camping, spend two days fishing and drinking beers and messing around on Archie’s guitar. It’s good for him, helps him feel a little more steady, a little more like himself, just him and his best friend under the stars, no cell phones, no criminals and victims, no paperwork.

No Betty.

Archie drives him home Sunday night, fist bumps him and honks his horn in goodbye when Jughead hops out of his truck and jogs across the street to his building.

It’s dark, he’s getting his keys out of his back pocket when a shadow in front of the door moves and he stops on the sidewalk as he takes in Betty Cooper, sitting on the front stoop of his building in a black jacket with the hood pulled up over her hair, arms crossed over her chest.

“Betty?”

Her head snaps up and she clambers off the stoop, stumbling backwards as he reaches for her. “I’m sorry” -

“Betty, what’s wrong? Where’ve you been?”

She starts to cry, tears rolling down that angelic face. “I’m sorry.”

He cups her by the shoulders, eyes scanning her body. “Are you hurt? What happened? Are you in trouble? Betty, if you’re in trouble, I can help you” -

She shakes her head and then she’s crashing into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she buries her head in his chest. “I’m so sorry,” she sobs. “I just - I just walked out and, and you deserve better than that” -

“Hey, hey.” He smooths one hand over the back of her head. “What happened to we don’t owe each other anything?”

“I’m sorry anyway,” she mumbles.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, and kisses her temple. “We’re okay. Have you been waiting here for awhile?”

She nods against his shirt and swipes at her face. “Yeah. God, you probably think I’m crazy.”

He shrugs. “We’re all a little crazy. I won’t hold it against you.”

She lets out a watery laugh that turns into a broken sob. “Interesting theory.”

“Betty, it’s okay, really. I can handle - whatever is going on, I can handle it. Okay?”

She looks up at him with watery eyes. “You sure about that?”

He runs his thumbs under her eyes, collecting teardrops. “I’m sure.”

She sniffs and nuzzles her cheek against his chest. “So what happens next?”

“Betty.”

She blinks and a few stray tears catch on her eyelashes. “Yeah?”

“You want to come inside and order a pizza?”

She stares at him. “Really?”

“Well the pizza’s happening either way but it would be nice to have you around to share it with.”

She presses her lips together and gives him a shy smile. “I’d like that.”

“Alright, come on then Cooper.”

She shakes her head and then she’s kissing him again, her hands clutching onto the lapels of his jacket. “So you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he says gently. “You did warn me, remember? Although…” he slides his hand up underneath her jacket to squeeze her waist. “For the record, I think you can be _very_ nice.”

She looks at him with eyes that glitter in the dark night. “Really?”

“Oh yeah, that thing you did with your tongue that night? Very nice, ten out of ten” -

“Okay, okay, very funny,” she laughs. “And, well…” To his surprise she blushes. “The sentiment is mutual.”

He chuckles and slings his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

“You know, you can call me Jughead,” he tells her. “It’s a nickname, no one gets to call me my real name though, deal?”

Betty smiles. “Whatever you say, Detective.”

He gets the front door unlocked and holds it for her. “After you.”

She smiles. “Thanks Jughead.”

Betty Cooper walks into his building and Jughead follows her inside.


End file.
